Dear Skull
by LiiiSherlockJunkiee
Summary: "It's done. I'm insane. Utterly insane. Actually, I should've known this day will come. If you get used to eyeballs in the microwave, body parts in the fridge, a bloody violin play at three o'clock in the morning and to be the best friend of a high functional sociopath you just HAVE to be crazy. JOHNLOCK (what else)
1. Chapter 1

Hello guys and welcome to my second fanfiction!

Please remember, I'm from Austria so I'm sorry for every mistake you'll probably find. Otherwise I hope you'll enjoy my little story and please, please, please review! :)

**Dear Skull**

Chapter 1: John Watson-Consulting Doctor

"It's done. I'm insane. Utterly insane. Actually, I should've known this day will come. If you get used to eyeballs in the microwave, body parts in the fridge, a bloody violin play at three o'clock in the morning and to be the best friend of a high functional sociopath you just HAVE to be crazy. Well, at least he is MY best friend, I have no idea what I am in his eyes. But the worst part is that I start to be a little like him. And that scares the hell out of me. Imagine, today in the surgery a young woman wanted desperately to flirt with me but I turned her down because of the bright stripe on her forefinger, which told me that she was recently a couple of weeks abroad, probably on honeymoon with her young age, and that obviously with her husband. She slapped me in the face and stormed out of the door, leaving me back in shock about my strange behaviour and with a burning cheek. Maybe I should start to wear a long, black coat and call myself consulting doctor. What do you mean?"

John turned around and faced the two dark, hollow eyes of the skull, which stared at him in silence. The army doctor sighed tiredly and nodded.

"Okay, okay, you're right. But I really would like to see Sherlock's face when he watches me putting on his holy coat."

Slowly he made his way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

"Fancy some tea?" he shouted in the direction of the skull, which, of course, didn't give an answer.

"Well, I need one", John murmured and a few minutes later he sat comfortably in his chair, sipping his favourite earl grey and listening to the raindrops crashing against the window. Yawning he closed his heavy eyelids and tried not to fall asleep in an instant.

He wasn't surprised of his tiredness, really. The latest case came just yesterday at night to a long awaited ending and took them the whole week to solve and today he had to work. He just couldn't risk another day off or Sahra would strangle him with a stethoscope.

So, after hours full of complaining patients and crying kids he was glad a silence flat had greeted him as he'd came home a couple of hours ago. Sherlock most probably became bored again and went off to or called Lestrade to give him some cold cases. Yeah, that sounded like him.

15 minutes later the doctor put his empty cup in the sink and rubbed tiredly over his face. Suddenly quick steps could be heard on the stairs and Sherlock stormed, dramatically as always, through the door and rushed into the , who leaned heavily against the table, was about to ask him where he was, but no words leaved his mouth and his eyes widened unbelievingly. There, in his flatmates hands, was a plastic bag, and in the plastic bag was a leg. A. Whole. Bloody. Leg.

Sherlock ignored his bloggers expression and started to empty the fridge, of course in his own, careful way. He picked one thing after the other and simply throwed them over his shoulder straight through the kitchen. Milk, eggs, jam, all of them leaved several stains on the wall and ended in a gigantic mess on the floor.

John just stood there, stared at his definitely mad friend and asked himself quietly what he'd done to deserve this. No really, WHAT HAD HE DONE? Finally, after the last carrot found its way to the ground, Sherlock plugged the leg carefully into the fridge and stood up with one fluent movement.

"You have to clean this, I don't want it near my experiments" he said, with an uninterested voice and leaved the kitchen.

John clenched his fists and took a deep breath to calm himself. He knew to argue was absolutely pointless in his state so the blond swallowed all his anger and started to throw his flatmates mess away. Again. Because the great Sherlock Holmes NEVER cleaned anything, he deemed himself for far too brilliant for lowering his person down to do something as mundane as cleaning.

After the floor was neat again, John made Sherlock and himself a cup of tea. He didn't even know why he made one for the other man too but he guessed it was purely habitual. Or at least he tried to tell that himself. Yawning every two seconds he waited until the water began to boil and then filled it in their two cups. Then he realised that their milk was spilled just a few minutes ago. Great. That was just…great.

Grinding his teeth he went into the living room, carefully carrying the black tea in his hands and put it in his friends demanding hands.

"Milk"

"We don't have any" the doctor answered and sat himself in his armchair, desperately trying not to collapse in front of his flatmate.

"Why?"

That was it. John looked up at Sherlock, who sat on the sofa and peered suspiciously in his cup.

"Wha…what does that mean 'why'? Because a certain Oh-so-brilliant-consulting-detective thought it was one of his wonderful ideas to throw the content of our fridge away just to put a damn leg in it!"

John's voice grew louder, annoyed by his friend's behaviour, his tiredness and his tea, which definitely needed a splash of milk. Sherlock frowned and put his untouched tea on the table.

"It's for a…"

"Case, I know", John interrupted him and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Breathing, John", he thought to himself. "Just breathing"

Sherlock's frown deepened and he surveyed his blogger a bit closer, folding his hands under his chin. Dishevelled hair, dark eye rings, pale in the face, obviously light headache. Well, somebody didn't have to be a genius to tell what the matter was.

"John"

The doctor looked up, a bit surprised by the scientist's soft voice.

"You should go to sleep"

The doctor stared at him.

"Ähm… yeah maybe I should"

Slowly he stood up, but Sherlock raised his hand.

"After…"

John moaned.

"After you went to the shop and bought some milk"

The blogger let out a desperate cry.

"Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no! Sherlock, you spilled the milk, so go and get some by yourself! I'm your friend and not your bloody housekeeper!"

Then he stormed off to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Quietness fell over the flat like a deep, wholly blanket. Sherlock crossed his arms and pulled a pout. "But that's boring", he murmured offended and pulled his legs to his chest.

Stupid tea. Stupid milk. Stupid world. Stupid, stupid, stupid and boring. Stupid and boring John. Sherlock bit his lip. Scratch that, John wasn't stupid or boring. Well, at least not as stupid and boring as the rest of the brainless human population, which wasn't even capable of producing a murderer who wasn't a completely and obvious idiot.

The detective yawned deeply and stretched himself. Fantastic, now he was tired. He hated sleeping. It was so…ordinary. He slept three days ago, why the hell was he even exhausted? Annoyed, Sherlock laid himself down on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Looking back, he maybe was a bit unfair to his blogger, but it really wasn't his fault that John needed the adrenaline as much as he did. No, it really wasn't his fault. Also, Sherlock Holmes shouldn't feel guilty. He's a high functional sociopath, for god's sake! Otherwise, Sherlock Holmes also shouldn't have friends... But the little, nagging feeling inside his stomach stayed until he fell asleep.

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Yes I know, it was rather short but the second chapter will be posted soon!

I hope you'll continue reading and please, review away ;)


	2. Chapter 2: Definitely a first

Hello everyone!

Alright, have fun with the second chapter!

**Chapter 2: Definitely a first**

As John woke up to a silent flat, he was worried. A whole night without one single violin play or exploding experiment was very odd. No, not odd…it was scary! Quickly he put on his clothes and ran downstairs, curious if Sherlock was even there and if, why he didn't make a hell lot of noise, like he always did.

As he stumbled into the living room, expecting the worst he instantly got his answer. Yes, the detective was at home, rolled himself into a bundle of pale limbs on the sofa, snoring softly and cuddling a pillow to death.

At first John simply stood there and stared, but after he recovered from his shock and awe he had to violently bit back a giggle. Quickly he made a picture with his phone, imagining the look on Lestrade's face should he ever see Sherlock in such an adorable moment. Oh, it would be hilarious. Anyway, it wasn't often that John had a way to blackmail on the detective, and this photo would definitely work as such. He hadn't done this because his flatmate looked absolutely sweet while sleeping. Of course not. No. Just, no.

Rolling his eyes about his odd thoughts, he quietly disappeared into the kitchen where he opened the fridge, looking for some jam. That, obviously, how Sherlock would put it, was a mistake. With a ghastly thud the leg fell onto the floor and John jumped back, and no, he wasn't shrieking like a girl. Not at all.

"Well done Watson" the doctor muttered under his breath and carefully, just with his fingertips, he tried to put the leg back in its previous position. After his third failing attempt he already strangled the damn thing, when he heard a well-known voice coming from the kitchen door. "What are you doing with my leg?"

John winced and turned to Sherlock, who stood bleary in the doorway and gave him one of his much used death glares. Before the doctor had a chance to answer the question, the detective went up to him, snatched the body part from his hands and put it exactly how it was just a moment ago.

"How the hell have you done that?" John asked stunned and glanced up to his flatmate, feeling like he was the most stupid person in the world. Judging by the glance Sherlock shot him, he thought definitely the same.

"Don't touch it again, or you ruin the life of a possibly innocent woman." The detective snarled and turned around to his strange looking and even more stranger smelling experiments.

"Fine" John grumbled, put the kettle on and started to read an old newspaper until his tea was ready. A bit later, when John typed away on his laptop to blog the latest case, Sherlock paced restless in front of the window.

"Bored" he said the fifth time in the last thirty seconds and John sighted annoyed.

"I know! You don't have to repeat yourself"

"Bored", was the only answer he got.

"Seriously?", he asked and closed defeated his document, knowing that his friend won't stop until something happened.

"Yes. Jooooown I'm bored. BORED! "

"You know, my ears are working perfectly well"

"Obviously, but that changes nothing, because I'm still BORED!"

John buried his face in his hands.

"Can't you just, I don't know, play the violin or do some experiments?"

"I only play the violin when I have something to think about, you should know this by now and I have to wait for all my experiments, and NO, Lestrade has no cases for me, I already asked him and again NO, he also has no cold cases for me because I solved all the interesting ones"

"You could ask your brother if he has…"

The look Sherlock gave him was answer enough.

"Well, I'm running out of ideas. We could go out for a pint", John suggested, not knowing who exactly he was kidding. Sherlock goes as often out for a pint as he cleans the flat. But the detective said nothing, just raised his eyebrows sceptically.

"You could at least try it", John pushed and looked at him expectantly. Stormy eyes met his own and nobody said another word, they simply stared each other, silence surrounding them. John was fascinated by the colour of Sherlock's eyes, had always been. They were light grey or blue, sometimes even greenish; he had no idea what colour exactly because it changed with the light. Right now, it was like he looked straight into liquid silver.

He didn't know how long they kept this intensive eye contact, but it broke off as Sherlock suddenly blinked confused and cleared his throat. John knew his cheeks were burning and wanted nothing more than to vanish from the face of the planet.

"Well, are you coming?"

He nearly jumped, startled by his flatmates sudden voice. With big eyes he watched as the detective put on his coat and waited for him at the door, his scarf already surrounded his long, pale neck.

"You really want to go out for a pint" John said dumbfounded, clearly believing this was some sort of joke, a trick or something. But Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighted suffering.

"John, you should stop stating the obvious, it's exhausting" With that he rushed out of their flat, his coat dramatically flowing behind him. The blonde silently grinned to himself while he quickly put on his jacket and ran after his friend, like he always did.

...

"How could you possibly know my favourite pub?"

"Obvious"Oh, how John hated that word.

"How that?"

Sherlock just snorted and didn't answer until they sat by a little table in the back of the pub, where they had a great few about the other guests.

"You're a very precautionary man, John. The pub had to be near our flat because if you would be drunk, you wouldn't have a long way to go. You also hate small rooms with many people because, let's face it, you're not the tallest one and you can't stand feeling overlooked and unimportant. At this point I have to say that's totally nonsense. Just because you're shorter than the most other people in your age, it doesn't mean you're less important. That's completely illogical. Anyway, so it also had to be a relatively big pub but also a cozy one, if you come here often, you had to feel somehow comfortable. You don't have much money so it had to be cheap and the only pub who fulfilled the requirement is this one. As I said, obvious"

John, completely amazed by this 'obvious' statement, ran his fingers through his hair.

"It could also be a pub further away and I'd just take a cab"

"Please John, you never take a cab if you don't have to, because in your opinion it harms the environment. Really, how small is your little br…"

The doctor decided he had enough and headed over to the bar to get them two pints and to calm his nerves. Why was he doing this again?

Meanwhile, Sherlock leaned back in his chair and looked at the other guests. There was a young man who studied history, wanted to become a teacher like his grandfather, had a crush on his seatmate and lived in a flat with his two best friends, a black cat and two white poodles. A seat behind him was an old couple, arguing about their money problems caused by their shopping addicted daughter and living in a dusty house where the shower didn't function properly. There were two women in their thirty's, definitely drunk and laughing about nonsense, the blonde was divorced since yesterday and the brunette tried to cheer her up by paying all her drinks and talking about her latest one night stand, who, by the way, sat on the other side of the bar, talking to a pretty, red haired journalist.

The detective's sharp gaze continued to slide over every single person until he reached John, who leaned over the counter and made polite small talk with the barkeeper. He wore one of his many jumpers, a dark red one with horrible white circles on it and old jeans. Every other person would say that his blogger has absolutely no taste in terms of clothing and Sherlock would whole heartily agree with them but somehow he didn't want it any other way. It just looked so…Johnish. His wholly jumpers and worn out jeans spoke for all the things which defined his flatmate. Laughing at crime scenes, hot tea in the evenings, a remarkably amount of patience and politeness and of course his caring about every single person, even about a high functional sociopath. Somehow this retired soldier who is addicted to jam and earl grey is a greater enigma than every serial killer ever would be.

Sherlock continued staring at the object of his curiosity until the man in question put their pints on the table and sat in front of him. John himself frowned a bit about the piercing stare but apart from that he simply ignored his friend and sipped his beer. After all, it wasn't the first time Sherlock deduced him and sometime ago he got used to the fact, that he wasn't able to hide anything. He even stopped trying.

Slowly relaxing, the doctor let his mind wander and stopped, just as usually, by his flatmate. It was odd to watch Sherlock sitting in a pub like a normal man and drinking a beer, but John somehow enjoyed it. He rarely spent time with this crazy madman without any case or suspect they could hunt, because after the 'game is over' Sherlock will always become bored out of his mind and with that an absolutely unbearable asshole. During those black moods the doctor just went for a walk or out for a pint alone, tired of the scientists upsetting comments. Today was definitely a first.

"Is that what people usually do? Sitting in a pub and drink?" Sherlock scoffed and ran his long, pale fingers over the edge of his glass.

"Yes" John confirmed and crossed his arms.

"Going out with people, having fun, forgetting about their life"

"That's not fun. A case is fun. A serial killer is fun. People are boring and slow. Not a thousand of drinks would change that. Believe me, I tried it several times as I was young and they were still so stupid", The detective growled, not realising his companions hardened glare.

"Why are you here then?" John asked, grinding his teeth because of the other man's harsh words. He knew he should have long time ago stopped being offended by the detectives outbursts but lately he was unusually sensitive in this sort of matter. He didn't know why, but the words stung.

"I'm bored and because you aren't people"

Bewildered he raised his head to look at Sherlock, who in turn watched a little fly, which crawled around on their table and suddenly seemed to fascinate him.

"Please, you just have to look at me; I'm the ordinary in person. Of course I'm people, besides a horribly boring one", John huffed, leaning back in his seat.

"No"

"No?"

"No, you're NOT people, stop telling yourself this nonsense"

The doctor rolled his eyes.

"Could the great Sherlock Holmes at least tell me, WHAT I am in his all-seeing-eyes?"

Sherlock's gaze flickered briefly over his bloggers face.

"You're John"

They stared at each other the second time on this day, but were interrupted already a few seconds later because of John's phone. And again John's cheeks were burning like a full grown tomato while he read the message he'd get, aware of the grey-blue eyes, which still were staring at him intently.

"Well, I hope you'll manage to leave our flat in one piece tonight, because I'm on a date"Sherlock narrowed his eyes and pressed his hands together, fingertips resting under his chin.

"No, don't you dare to look at me like that! I couldn't care less about your opinion right n…"

"She's from work. You're nervous, you're scared that I interrupt your date and that she would probably tell her other female friends at work about the disastrous meeting with you. Your already minimal chances to date some other women from the surgery would be unchangeably destroyed"

John emptied his pint in the next two seconds.

"Sherlock, please, can't we just talk about something else? Anything. The weather for example", The poor man asked while ordering another drink.

"But why? Why, John, are you still trying to date these brainless human beings? You can't tell me you still believe that maybe, one day, you'll find the one! With your lifestyle? You're addicted to adrenaline and danger and you're favourite hobby is chasing some killers down. What kind of woman would like to stay with a man whose life is practically throughout in danger and whose best friend and flatmate is me? You don't really believe that a girlfriend of yours would make an exception and I would actually play nice? I think you have to admit that it would be better for all parties if you just stay alone"

And he went on and on, listing facts while all of John's hopes and dreams exploded like his experiments. After he was finished with his speech and was very pleased with himself, John had drunk so many pints he'd completely lost count.

"You…hicks"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "John?"

"I…hihihihi…I hate dyou", The doctor giggled madly and tried to take another gulp until he realised that his glass was already empty and waved hectically for another one.

"But…You can't be drunk; I just spoke for, what? Fifteen minutes?"

The barkeeper, who put the next drink in front of the crazy smiling ex-soldier, shook his head, utterly impressed.

"I've never seen somebody drinking like this. It's almost like he's absorbing my beer stock" Because of Sherlock's death-stare he hurriedly walked back behind the counter.

"You knoth whath? You are anth asssssssHIHIHIHIHIHIHI"

"Thanks, and why exactly? I was just stating the truth and you know it"

"Becauth…waith a momenth"John seemed to think and emptied his next pint. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "I havth no ideaaaaaa…hihii"But as he wanted to wave for another round, Sherlock quickly stood up and paid for John's…EIGHT PINTS?…and grabbed the disoriented doctor at his upper arm.

"Come on John. I think we should go"

"But…"

"No but, we go. Now"

Trying not to hurt his companion's bad shoulder he shoved him as less as rough out on the street as possible. The way back home with a drunken and laughing John was more difficult than Sherlock anticipated and almost ended with a car crash, because of John, who wanted desperately to stroke the middle of the road.

Finally, Sherlock managed to get them both unharmed back to their flat and in the living room. At this point, John stumbled over his feet and crashed hard onto the floor, laughing his ass of.

Sighting, the detective helped his flatmate up and directed him to the sofa, not willing to carry him up in his bedroom. He still had a little bit of dignity, thank you very much.

A couple of minutes later John snored blissfully and Sherlock sat on his chair and watched the slow raising of the sleeping men's chest. Drunk at 11am on a Sunday. This day seemed to have a lot of firsts.

The grey eyes travelled over the ex-solder's frame. Surprised he realised that he hadn't been bored since they leaved the flat and even now he was pleased just to look at the figure in front of him. One of his rare smiles tucked on his lips as his blogger snuggled himself deeper in the cushions and he quietly got to his feet to pick up the blanket from his bedroom. Carefully he throwed it over John, sat himself back in his chair and continued observing every single wrinkle on the familiar face in front of him, unconsciously storing it all away in his mindpalace.

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I love it when John is drunk ;)

PLEASE, please review and tell me what you think :D


	3. Chapter 3: Thoughts of a 'sociopath'

Welcome back!

There we go with the third chapter, which may be a little short but I hope you'll like it anyway :)

**Thoughts of a 'sociopath'**

Exactly one hour later Sherlock practically jumped to his feet. What the hell was he doing? Covering John with his blanket? Ridiculous! And what are these stupid thoughts in his head, all this sentiment? He didn't care about anyone, not even about himself! Why should he suddenly start with something so ordinary and distractingly as feelings? No. It really didn't matter if John looked sweet in his jumper! Wait a moment…sweet…did he really just thought SWEET?! Damn. Bored. YES, that had to be it! He was just bored and his mind desperately had to think about something and…This didn't make any sense, did it? Well, it was certainly better than to think that he, Sherlock Holmes, had become weak and that just because of John! Ha, what an idiotic thought! Nobody made a sociopath feel, not even John with his cuddly jumpers and his soft eyes, which were deep and blue and reminded him of the ocean…Damn. He had to do something, distract himself from all these ghastly emotion. Angrily, Sherlock stomped off into the kitchen and tried to start a new experiment. It worked and during the next 5 hours the detective buried his thoughts happily in chemical reactions and science.

All went perfectly well until he heard a yawn and a shifting blanket out of the living room. Suddenly his thoughts started spinning again, making him sick to his stomach. John. Eyes. Dark blue. Ocean. Date. Drunk. Emotion. Blanket. Feelings. Experiment, he had to concentrate on his experiment. Yes. John. Yes. No. WHAT? A desperate cry escaped his mouth and footsteps came closer.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?"

John, who stood unsteady and heavily blinking in the doorway with a worried expression on his face, stopped in his tracks as Sherlock raised a warning hand.

"Leave" he commanded sharply.

"Sherlock, are you sure you're fine?"

"I'm feeling perfectly and now…"

The scientist waved impatiently in the direction of the living room.

"Alright, alright", John said, giving up trying to understand his friend's moods. The doctor thought back to the pub and groaned. The first time Sherlock went out for a pint and what had he done? He drank one beer after the other.

"Congratulations John", he whispered darkly while he sat himself in front of the television to rest his dizzy feeling head. There was still too much alcohol in his blood to do anything more useful right now.

Meanwhile, Sherlock went into his mind palace to throw all his uncontrollably feelings in a little, almost empty room named 'emotions'. After that was done, he still felt a little odd and vulnerable, but it was much better than before. Steeling himself, he gracefully moved into the living room, picked up his violin and played during the whole afternoon.

John, who turned off the TV after the first tone, listened a long time, until he realised that he had to do some shopping and brought also some take away with him. The groceries were placed on the upperpart of the fridge, so they didn't touch the leg and ruin a woman's life. The evening was quiet and comfortably, John even managed Sherlock to watch a movie with him. He should've known better.

"Oh please, it was his nephew; you simply have to look at his shoes!"

"Sherlock", John hissed and glared angrily at his companion, who looked like the most innocent person in the world.

"What? You can't tell me you haven't noticed!"

Sherlock let out a suffering groan and shook his head unbelievingly.

"How boring life must be with such a little, stupid brain. My respect that you haven't shot yourself yet, I would have certainly done it already."

John rolled his eyes at the detective's arrogance and an amused smile tucked in the corner of his lips while he desperately tried to follow the movie.

"And even Anderson acts better than the main character! You have to be blind AND brainless not to see that he definitely isn't in love with the woman who plays his 'wife'"

The doctor blinked confused and frowned a little bit.

"You know that they are married also in real life, don't you?"

Sherlock huffed and shot him one of his don't-be-stupid-of-course-I-know-because-it's-obvious-looks.

"But you just said that…"

"Yes, of course he doesn't love her! Watch closely, what you see in his eyes when he looks at his so called 'wife' isn't attraction but annoyance and distaste. And now look at him and the blonde actor who plays his brother. You see?"

John did as he was said and tried to think like Sherlock. And indeed, the two actors seemed to somehow handle each other a bit too careful, always with slight smiles and too much shared glances.

"He cheated on her with their colleague? Wait, but that means he's…"

"Gay", the deep voice finished his sentence.

"Good John, very good", Sherlock admitted and seemed actually proud, which let John's smile grew even wider.

"Now, what can you tell me about the nephew?"

And so, the two flatmates deduced every actor, giggling like schoolgirls when they found something utterly embarrassing or unexpected. In the end, John had to admit that this was far more fun than just looking the otherwise really boring movie.

Eventually, the doctor switched to a documentation about a little farm and the first picture they saw on the screen was a big, dirty pig. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"There you have Anderson in his natural environment"

They looked back at the ugly animal which blinked stupidly in the camera and started laughing like there was no tomorrow.

"And here comes Sally", John giggled and pointed on a confused looking cow which joined the pig on the screen. Now their self-control was completely shattered and both fell on the floor where they giggled until tears were running down John's face and Sherlock hold onto his aching stomach. As they tried to calm down,suddenly an old, grey sheep seemed to get angry with the other two animals and looked so much like Lestrade that they started to laugh hysterically again.

"Holly lord, please let this stop!", John gasped between fits of giggles, barely able to breath.

Finally, Sherlock managed to stand up and turned the telly off.

"Do you really want to sleep on the floor?", The detective asked the dark figure to his feets, amusement glittered in his normally cold, emotionless eyes.

"No, it's a bit too cold down here", John answered and struggled to his feet, trying to find the way to his bedroom in the darkness.

After he reached stairs he turned the lights on and wanted to say good night, but the living room was already empty. The ex-soldier shrugged his shoulders and went up to his room, collapsing on his soft mattress. He fell asleep before he could change his clothes and his last thought was, that today he'd caught glimpses of the real Sherlock, and what he'd had seen behind his cold mask pleased him, very much so. He should definitely watch movies with him more often.

* * *

So, as always every review brightens my day ;)


	4. Chapter 4: 'BOOM'

Time for the next chapter! Hope you'll like it :)

**Chapter 3:** "**BOOM"**

"Sherlock, our last case is already four days ago and since the day we went out to the pub you haven't once complained that you're bored and played nearly constantly the violin. What the hell is bothering you so much?", John asked three days later, watching the object of his concerns, which paced restless up and down in front of the window.

"Experiment" Sherlock lied and went back to his mind palace, were he tried and failed to shut up the annoying feelings, the source of his lack of boredom. The detective just didn't seem capable to delete or lock them away and slowly he started to get frustrated. There must be some way to get rid of them, but he had absolutely no idea how.

"Experiment, sure. You know, I'm not THIS stupid to actually believe this crap"

After John received no answer he murmured darkly to himself and sat down in his chair to continue reading his book.

"Stop worrying so much John, it's distracting and I don't see any need in it"

"Oh Sherlock, you're right, I'm such an idiot! Please, forgive me for caring about you" The doctor's voice practically dript of sarcasm.

"Apologise excepted"

John asked himself if Lestrade would mind if he shot Sherlock, he was sure the detective inspector himself thought about that often enough himself.

"Hu, hu boys! I've made some muffins for you two!", Misses Hudsen cooed outside in the staircase and shortly after that, she entered through the door and stood in their living room, a plate with little chocolate cakes balancing in her hands.

"Oh Misses Hudsen, you're an angel!", John grinned and helped the smiling woman making room on the, with experiments overloaded table.

"Oh Sherlock, you really should clean you're mess away, you know? Where are you even eating?"

The man in question rolled his eyes about her and shook his head.

"Science is really more important than eating. Eating is boring. Leave, you're distracting and I need to focus"

John huffed in annoyance and leaded the elder woman back to the door. "I'm sorry, he's a bit touchy today"

"Oh don't worry too much dear, I'm sure he just has to get used having somebody he cares about. Boyfriends and feelings weren't really his area, you know"

John decided it would be better if he simply ignored her and quickly shut the door. Sherlock stopped in his tracks and stared on the point where Misses Hudsen stood a few seconds ago, her words still ringing in his ears.

"Fancy some tea?", John asked, not realising his flatmate's strange behaviour and made his way into the kitchen where he put the kettle on. But as he opened the fridge he let out a groan and turned to Sherlock, who looked at him with a questioning raised eyebrow.

"Why is this damn leg still here Sherlock? I thought you already proved the women's alibi right?"

"I need it", the detective replied and joined John at the table to continue with one of his other, relatively sensitive, experiments, which included a couple of rather dangerous chemicals.

"No, you don't", John said stubbornly and took the leg out of the fridge.

"John", Sherlock growled and turned around to face the angry looking army doctor.

"No"

The blonde took a step back to avoid the pale hand, which tried to snatch the human part from his hands.

"John, give me the leg!"

"No"

Sherlock tried again to get the subject of his desire and managed to catch the ankle.

"Let go", John hissed and they started to pull like their life depended on it.

"You're overreacting!", the detective said with gritted teeth which caused John to argue back, but Sherlock had stopped paying attention. Instead, he concentrated on a quiet hissing sound and strange grip loosened strength and his gaze flickered to his experiment, which's colour had changed from dark yellow to a light blue and boiled aggressively. Bit not good.

Without thinking twice he let completely go of the leg and throwed himself on John, who let out a surprised cry and fell hard on the floor, Sherlock's body pressing him to the ground. A second later there was a short bright light and then…BOOM. Glass tubes exploded and whizzed in all directions, followed by all kinds of now completely destroyed equipment. A loud cracking sound signalled the breakdown of the table, which crashed on the floor milliseconds later.

John, who was shield by the detective's lean body, panted heavily in the dark curls which tickled him in the nose.

"Sherlock?", he asked, his heart pounding against his chest.

The weight on him shifted a bit and the dark haired man raised slowly his head, pieces of glass drizzling to the floor. Sherlock looked down in dark eyes and lost himself in their depth. John opened and closed his mouth, suddenly forgotten what he wanted to say and hyper aware of their touching bodies and synchronically breathing. Their faces were so close…too close.

"I can come back later if…I don't know; I'm interrupting something or…"

The flatmates winced at the dumbfounded voice which came from the other side of the kitchen.

"Oh don't play more stupid as you already are Lestrade", Sherlock snarled and turned his head to look at the inspector who stood in the doorway and cleared awkwardly his throat. John didn't want to know how their situation must look like, the two of them laying, limps entangled, in a mass of destroyed experiments and next to a broken table. Shit.

Completely embarrassed, the doctor tried to stand up, but Sherlock didn't give in and made it impossible to move more than two centimetres. They were so close to each other, breathing the same air and John felt a pleasant warmth spreading deep down in his chest. _Shit_.

"Well…ähmm…we've found a dead man in 66a, Northumberland Street. Will you come, or…?"

"Yes and now, leave us alone", Sherlock answered impatiently and John's face became an even deeper shed of red as it already had.

"Right…yes. I'm better leaving you two for…well…you know" Quickly, Greg went backwards and stumbled, still relatively shocked, out of their flat.

"Great chose of words, Sherlock! No wonder people talk so much crap about us!"

"What have I done now?", the detective asked confused and looked back down on his flustered blogger who gave up fighting and just lay frustrated on the cold floor.

"You know perfectly well what", John said and waved his hand, making his friend attentive to their situation.

"Oh", was all the brunett managed, a deep frown on his face.

"Yes so, would you mind…?", the still blushing doctor asked impatiently and shot the pale face a stern glance, trying to cover up his nervousness. Sherlock stared at him another couple of seconds until he gracefully got to his feet and went into the living room.

John blinked and eventually followed the scientist who already put his coat on, happily beaming because of the new case and quickly went out of the door. John shook his head, grabbed his jacket and rushed down the stairs and onto the street where Sherlock already sat in a cab and waited for him impatiently.

"Northumberland Street", the pale man barked and looked out of the window, an excited glow in his eyes.

"You know, YOU will be the one who cleans the kitchen this time", John said, causing Sherlock to turn around and look at him disbelieving.

"Mrs Hudson will…"

"NO Sherlock, there's absolutely no way!"

"Well, then you will have to do it"

"But…Certainly NOT!"

"Why, you always clean my mess away"

"Yes, because you don't do it yourself!"

"Exactly"

The doctor opened his mouth and shut it again.

"Hu…", he finally said, absolutely not getting it. The detective snorted annoyed and turned to the window once again.

"I won't clean it away and someday you'll have enough and will do it yourself"

Just as the blond wanted to give his friend a piece of his mind they arrived at their destination and Sherlock was out before he even uttered a single word.

Sourly John paid the cabbie who shot him a pityingly look and went over to the house which was surrounded by a yellow tape.

"Don't worry, you and your boyfriend will be fine, I'm arguing with my wife all the time but we still love each other to no end", the cabbie shouted as he drove past him.

"What a lovely day", the doctor muttered and entered the crime scene.

* * *

Sigh...Sherlock and his experiments

Anyway, review a give me a piece of your mind ;)


	5. Chapter 5: Being a soldier

Taramtamtam taramtamtammmmmm...the fifth chapter!

Enjoy! (Or not, but I really hope you will)

**Chapter 5: Being a soldier**

Lestrade watched as Sherlock bustled around the dead woman who lay on floor with three stab wounds in her chest. After John entered, the ex-soldier waited until the detective gave him a short nod and then knelt beside the victim to take a closer look.

"Oi freak! Still not blown yourself up with the stupid experiments of yours? Such a shame"

Both flatmates tensed up synchronically as Sally entered the room, followed by a snickering Anderson.

"Donovan", Greg said warningly but the woman just rolled her eyes, arms crossed stubbornly.

"Sally. Had fun with Anderson in the toilet?"

John bit his lips to stop himself from grinning as the Sargent's face went pale in an instant.

"Sherlock", Lestrade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The detective ignored him and continued to survive the body. Eventually he stood up, freed himself from the white gloves and just threw them on the ground. Anderson growled.

"She's about 35 years old and a lesbian, has a little daughter but was never married. She's nicotine addicted, smoked about 30 cigarettes a day, which is most probably the cause of her money problem. Obviously somebody lent her some but she couldn't pay it back so she killed her and stole her necklace, which most certainly is very precious, she inherited it but was too sentimental to sell it, so…"

"Wait, wait, wait Sherlock how…", Lestrade interrupted him, a deep frown on his face.

"Oh please, how have you even managed to become inspector? She's a lesbian because of the love bite on her neck which is obviously from a woman, she has pink ink stains on her shoulder, somebody probably splattered a pen in her close proximity, pink means it was most probably a young girl, she was never married because she has no ring. Maye she just doesn't wear it? No, of course not because married would mean honeymoon and that would have left a stripe on her forefinger, at least a small one. Her nails are yellow, covered up with white nail polish but it splitters already so somebody can easily see the unhealthy colour which means nicotine over use, the shed of the yellow tells me about 30 cigarettes a day. Yes, I know that because I wrote an essay about it. So much cigarettes, minimal wage, out worn clothes, this all is clear as a day, she has no money, but her nail polish and her shoes are new, so? She lent some money but couldn't pay it back"

"How would you know?"

"Well because she's dead, even you should see that Lestrade. There are marks of a necklace on the back of her neck, meaning she wore it practically every time of the day, even when she was sleeping so it must be something special to her. The fact that she doesn't wear it now, tells us that somebody took it and this woman, YES Lestrade, _obviously_ a woman, wouldn't have risked to take it if it wasn't worth a lot of money"

The inspector mumbled darkly to himself but was interrupted by his ringing phone. With a last glare at Sherlock he stepped out and went down the stairs.

"Amazing" said John, who grinned widely at his friend whose lips quirked up a tiny bit, forming a barely noticeable smile.

"Freak", somebody hissed and both, doctor and detective turned around to face Anderson's disgusted expression. Before Sherlock could say anything though, the army doctor took a step forward.

"Stop being a git, take Sally and piss off so you two can go back fucking each other senseless in a stupid toilet. We both know that you're just jealous", he snapped, causing Donovan to gasp and stumble out of the room but Anderson just narrowed his eyes.

"If I was you, I would better shut up. I won't let myself being insulted any further by a pitiable coward who most probably got shot on purpose so he could go home instead of fighting. I bet you were just too lazy to save your friends and begged somebody to shot y…"

He never managed to finish his sentence because right then Sherlock rushed forward and punched him forcefully in the middle of his face. Then he grabbed Anderson at his collar and pressed him against the wall.

"If you say another word, just one word, I swear not even Mycroft will find your corpse, do you understand me?", the detective growled furiously while the man under his hands began to nod hectically, blood running from the foresnic's nose.

"Good", the brunet spat and shoved the shaking man violently through the open door, where Anderson quickly came to his feet again and fled out of the building. Still shaking with anger, Sherlock turned around and looked at John, who was completely frozen in place, staring into distance. Back straight, shoulders tense, chin held high…just like a soldier. The detective hesitantly called his name and finally the dark blue eyes of his companion snapped back into reality and met his gaze with a sad smile playing on his lips.

"SHERLOCK! Why the hell did you break Anderson's nose?!", Lestrade barked frustrated and stormed into the room. The man in question didn't pay him any attention, just grabbed John's hand and stomped off, pulling his blogger down the stairs and out on the street where he continued to walk briskly in the direction of their flat, not bothering to call a cab.

"Thank you", the doctor whispered, squeezing the other man's hand while trying to keep up with the long legs of his flatmate. The detective just hummed and glanced down to meet the others eyes.

"His face was hilarious", John said with an amused giggle and Sherlock laughed quietly, storing Anderson's shocked expression after he punched him away for moments he would need something to laugh at.

They needed exactly 20 minutes back to Baker Street during which neither of them spoke. The fact that they had been holding hands the whole time wasn't mentioned with a single word as they eventually stepped into their mess of a kitchen.

"You still have to clean that, you know", John sighed and drove his hands through his hair, eying the complete disaster. Sherlock, instead of answering, picked up his violin and started playing a quick, mocking piece. The doctor glared at him until he finally gave up and started to fill the bin with all various sorts of broken equipment which lay clattered around their kitchen. Some things seemingly never changed.

While the doctor was occupied with cleaning the mess away, like he always did, Sherlock had some sort of panic attack. If this wasn't strange enough itself, the cause of said attack was even more disturbing. Feelings. Emotions. They pounded in his head, slowly filled the corridors of his mindpalace and poisoned his thoughts until there was nothing left but confusion. The world's only Consulting Detective struggled with his mind and had to immensely concentrate himself not to play a wrong tune on his instrument.

This was far more difficult than expected, especially as he heard a soft humming out of the kitchen which rang in his ears, making him close his eyes. And then it happened. He put his fingers on the wrong strings and produced a high and absolutely wrong screech on his violin. Sherlock's hands stilled and John, who knew instantly that something was wrong, rushed into the living room.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine"

The blond frowned a bit at his friend's harsh voice but didn't think too much of it. It was Sherlock after all.

"Alright, I think you should eat something and then go to sleep. Chinese?"

"Not hungry"

"I really don't care, so Chinese it is"

With that the doctor dialled the number of their favourite restaurant and ordered the usual things, ignoring the sulking detective who put down his instrument and stalked away to his bedroom.

"Like a five year old", John sighted and started to stack up the remnant of their destroyed kitchen table. He would use them for the fireplace.

A few minutes after he was finished with scrubbing the floor, their orders were brought and he dragged a cursing Consulting Detective back into the living room where they sat on the sofa and ate their meal in silence. As their elbows brushed the third time, John couldn't ignore it any longer. Something in their relationship was changing, this much was clear and he had no idea how to react. The fact that his heart skipped a beat every time Sherlock's arm touched his in the progress of eating didn't help in the slightest.

When they were finished, the doctor grabbed the remote and turned the telly on to distract himself from the pale silhouette on his right side, which stared totally lost in thought out of the window.

"You will have nightmares" the deep voice suddenly announced and John nodded slowly, avoiding the others eyes and continued to stare stubbornly on the screen. He knew that. It was absolutely unavoidable after Anderson's words. Pitiful coward. The ex-soldier winced as he thought back to the previous moment at the crime scene. But during the rest of the evening he knew that sleep would come eventually and at some point he stopped fighting. His eyes fell close and then there was nothing but black.

Sherlock who snapped out of his thoughts just moments later, felt a weight on his side and his eyebrows shot up after he discovered that John was cuddled up to him, head on the detectives shoulder and the left arm spread boneless over the others chest, sleeping peacefully. The brunet stared down at his companion and didn't know what to do. Helplessly he tried to lay his arm on something that wasn't John but failed miserably and as his hand finally stilled it lay over his friend's waist. Sherlock looked up, directly into the dark holes of the skull.

"What?" he snapped as loud as he could without waking the sleeping man whose warm breath ghosted over his neck. The unmistakeable smell of John filled his nose and a pleasant shiver ran down his back. The skull continued to stare at him in mocking silence.

"Oh, shut up", the detective grumbled and carefully buried his face in soft, blond hair.

John hadn't a single nightmare this time.

* * *

Anderson is a git...

Review? :)


	6. Chapter 6: Inner conflicts

Alriiiiiight, this is...short, I know.

By the way, I just realised I haven't even thanked these wonderful persons who are following this little story or who marked it as favourite...Really, I'm SO INCREDIBLY THANKFULL! Thanks, thanks, thanks, thanks and so on ;)

Have (hopefully) fun

**Inner conflicts**

The next two weeks were…horrible, to say the least. Every day John was distracted by 3 little voices which debated constantly in the back of his mind and which represented his personalities: Soldier, doctor and blogger.

Soldier: Pull yourself together Watson, you're NOT gay!

Doctor: But it's proven that people's sexuality is able to change with the time…

Blogger: And it's Sherlock…by all means, he's the most fascinating human being you've ever met, no wonder you've fallen for him.

Soldier: He hasn't fallen! I won't allow it!

Doctor: Let's be reasonable…

Soldier: Piss off with your stupid logic, we have war, there is no time for this nonsense!

Blogger: John Hamish Watson-Holmes…a bit long but it sounds good, very noble somehow.

Soldier: STOP IT, THIS IS AN ORDER!

Doctor: Calm down, this is no good for your blood pressure.

Blogger: Or better Holmes-Watson?

Soldier: AAAAARGH

Doctor: You're starting to hyperventilate.

Blogger: Oi, you could get a dog! Oooooh imagine, you three would look like a family!

Soldier: IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP IN AN INSTANT I SWEAR!

Doctor: Breathing. Take deep breaths.

Blogger: You could ask Lestrade to be best man, oh and Mycroft's face when you'll tell him, it would be so much fun!

Soldier: JOHN HAMISCH WATSON, if you dare to listen to this absolute madness I-I will, I will…!

Doctor: In and out. In and out.

Blogger: My dear soldier, you're sounding a bit stressed. Is everything alright?

Soldier: Your death will be slow and painful.

Doctor: Not if I have anything to say on that matter.

Solder: Well, you know what? You don't!

Blogger: Really you two, shut up for a moment so John is able to finally follow his heart and kiss his flatmate senseless. Mmmh this pale, pale lips!

Soldier: …And then I will rip your gut out of your body and strangle you with it…

Doctor: You do know that this isn't possible?

Soldier: …and then I will draw you in acid and…

Doctor: I'm giving up

This endless conversation continued the whole time and slowly John thought at some point he will go mad. All in all, three continents Watson had the worst sexuality crisis of his life…and was completely in denial about it.

Sherlock wasn't any better. The door which blocked out his feelings was getting more unstable with every hour which passed. The detective's head was close to bursting because of the headache it was causing him and at some point he practically feared entering his mind palace. And without his mind palace he didn't want to take any cases and without cases he had nothing to distract himself from his 'emotion problem' which just caused his headache to increase. And to make it worse, he had his own alter ego battle to fight, even if this one was much shorter and repeated itself endlessly.

Sociopath: RUN!

Scientist: Caring is a chemical defect, found on the losing side.

Virgin: But it's John

All in all, both flatmates were in rather dark and grumpy moods. When it occurs that they were both in the same room for longer than 3 minutes they would start fighting over some unimportant matter until they both have enough of shouting and would stomp into their rooms. John avoided Sherlock because he just couldn't stand his presence without screaming in frustration and Sherlock avoided John because the doctor only made his head hurt even more. The detective started smoking again, only in his bedroom of course so the doctor wouldn't notice and John's leg started hurting.

For two weeks it went that way. Two weeks full of anger, frustration, inner conflicts and depression. Until one faithful Friday Lestrade called them and practically bagged the Consulting detective to come over to have a look at some photographs. And Sherlock accepted, stalking off with John at his heels, because the blogger wouldn't let his friend go alone, awkward silence and sexuality crisis be damned. And there, in Lestrade's office, it happened. Their visit to Scotland Yard turned out to be a tad more complicated than expected.

* * *

I loved writing Johns inner dicussion, it was rather funny...I hope you share my opinion, and if you do? REVIEW! And if not? REVIEW! I'm always glad to have my mistakes pointed out and every idea I get is more than welcome!


	7. Chapter 7: Falling

Huch, I really needed some time with this chapter...anyway, read, enjoy, review!

**Chapter 7: Falling**

John knew they were being ridiculous. Sherlock knew they were being ridiculous. They both knew that the other knew that they knew they were being ridiculous. But the two men just couldn't help themselves. It felt this freeing to scream all their frustration to the world, they really didn't care who listened or watched. John's heartbeat was rising with every word as was his voice. The doctor wasn't even able to remember how it all had started, but he thought he could remember Sargent Donovan's voice shortly before his mind went blank and all he could do was shout, stamp with his feet and wave hectically around with his hands. And. It. Felt. So. Good.

Lestrade was a calm man, always patient and good-natured. He loved his job, stood up for his friends, tried desperately to save his marriage, he even recycled. Very few people knew, that he also claimed himself as a pacifist. Greg detested every from of violence, which was one of the reasons why he became inspector, so he could imprison the ones who harmed others. But right now, he wanted nothing more than to kill both men who stood in front of his desk and shouted senseless things to each other. As Sherlock started to throw Lestrade's mug against the wall, the detective inspector buried his face in his hands.

"… THIS STUPID HEAD IN THE FRIDGE AND…"

"…THREW OUT MY LAST FINGERTIPS WHICH WHERE MAJOR TO…"

"Guys", Lestrade tried to interrupt the fourth time but was completely ignored. The DI sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. One stupid comment of Sargent Donovan, that was all it had taken. Of course Greg had known since at least a week that there was something wrong between the two men, regardless what Sherlock said he wasn't a complete idiot, thank you very much.

The moment he'd stepped into the flat at Baker Street 7 days ago to ask the world's only Consulting Detective and his loyal blogger for help, he'd realised the change of atmosphere in an instant. For example, there hadn't been any noises. No cluttering in the kitchen, no boiling kettle, no violin, no bubbling experiments, no gun shots, no complains of boredom, no laughers, no voices. Sherlock had sat in his armchair, hands pressed flat together with his fingertips brushing against his lips and a deep frown on his face. John had been nowhere in sight. But the last and definitely shocking confirmation for the DI's suspicion that there was something terribly wrong, came in form of Sherlock's answer to the case Greg had needed him for help. "No" That was all. At first Lestrade had thought he'd misheard him, because really, it was a triple murder after all, but the scientist repeated his negation and asked him politely if he could leave him alone to his thoughts. He even said _please_ and wished him _good luck_ for solving the murder.

That was when the inspector had known it. Something was HORRIBLY off.

"THESE FINGERTIPS WERE IN MY UNDERWEAR!"

"I COULDN'T PUT THEM UNDER YOUR BED, THE EXPERIMENT WOULD BE RUINED IF THEY'D COME INTO CONTACT WITH THE EARS I'VE DUMPED THERE!"

"WHAT?!"

"Sherlock, John, could you two please calm down and behave like grown-ups…?"

"NO!" they snapped at him and continued with their shouting like nothing had happened.

"Fine", Lestrade muttered, pulled out his mobile phone and dialled the number of Mycroft. If he wouldn't be able to stop this madness, nobody would. And they wanted to meet for dinner anyway. He hadn't to wait long for an answer.

"Evening Gregory"

"Mycroft, if you don't show up here in the next two seconds I think I might kill your little br…OOHF"

The air was knocked out of the inspector's lungs and his phone clattered to the ground as John all of a sudden jumped at Sherlock, threw them both over the desk and directly onto Lestrade, whose chair toppled over under the weight of three full grown men of which two of them were fighting for dominance and the other one tried desperately to catch back his breath. For a short time the world tipped side wards and then they all hit the floor in a mess of clothing and various body parts.

"Get off of me!"

"Ouch!"

"You're sitting on my ankle!"

"Stop moving!"

"Damn it!"

Struggling and cursing, Greg tried to get back to his feet but as soon as he stood and made a move forward he stumbled over Sherlock's seemingly endless legs and keeled over again, causing the detective under him to let out a muffled groan and John, whose right arm vanished under Lestrade's upper body, to cry out in pain. After a bit of more struggling, Sherlock lay flat on his stomach, John was sprawled over his back with his head buried somewhere between the cold floor and a pale upper arm and the inspector's legs where hopelessly entangled with the other two figures while he was desperate to put as less as possible weight on the doctors arm which was still awkwardly stuck under his abdomen. Unnecessary to mention, it wasn't very comfortable.

"Well done John", Sherlock muttered, grinding his teeth because of the weight which pressed him hard on the cold floor.

"Oh, so this is my fault?" the man in question replied, his voice dangerously low.

"I wasn't the one who brought us in this situation!"

"It certainly wasn't me alone who…"

And there was the shouting again. Lestrade didn't know if he should laugh hysterically or start to cry. Both choices seemed very appealing at the moment.

"Good evening brother mine, always a pleasure to see you working"

Three heads lifted from their positions on the ground and looked directly in the face of Mycroft Holmes who stood, leaning casually on his umbrella, in the doorway of Greg's office and survived them with a raised eye brow.

"Piss off", Sherlock hissed and quickly shoved John and Lestrade off himself so he could get to his feet, the other two men cursing as they were roughly pushed around on the floor.

"You really do not have any manners", the British Government sighed and stepped forward so he could help a completely dishevelled DI up who thanked him quietly, drawing a hand through his messy hair. The younger man narrowed his eyes at his brother but his gaze flickered automatically down to linger on a certain Ex-army doctor, who currently sat groggily on the ground and looked like he had been run over by a bus. Twice.

Fighting with himself, the proclaimed Sociopath eventually offered the other man his hand and the blond just hesitated for a few seconds until he gently laid his slightly darker hand into the delicate, pale one. Greg and Mycroft watched with a knowing smile on both of their faces as the detective pulled his blogger up, the two men now standing merely a few inches away. Lestrade snorted and shook his head disbelievingly.

"4 minutes ago they were about to strangle each other and now they are stuck in the most soppy eye locking scene I have ever witnessed. What the hell is wrong with them?" he whispered exasperated, looking at Mycroft for help.

"This, my dear Gregory", the other one sighed "is called falling in love" The inspector and the Government looked back to the flatmates who still stood far closer together than friends would do, their cheeks slightly more red then they should be.

"And hard they have fallen", Lestrade muttered, receiving an agreeing nod from the elder Holmes.

Sherlock and John stared at each other for a while until they realised what they were doing and quickly stepped away to bring more distance between them. Their hands which still had been locked fell limply to their sides. After a couple of minutes filled with awkward silence, the detective shook his head to get himself back to focus and just then realised that Lestrade and Mycroft were looking at them with smug smiles on their faces.

_"What?"_, Sherlock spat, making John aware of their observers which caused a delicate blush to form on his already slightly red cheeks.

"You know exactly _what_, my dear brother, don't you?"

"No, I don't Mycroft, so stop being even more of an annoying smartass than usual and speak your mind"

Lestrade frowned a bit at the detective's growling, but the elder Holmes seemed to be amusing himself greatly.

"Well, you'll figure it out eventually. Maybe you two should leave before more of Gregory's cups find their way to the floor"

Before Sherlock could say something to that matter, John nodded firmly, grabbed the Consulting Detective's elbow and dragged the protesting man along the floor to the elevator.

"Have fun you two!" ,Lestrade shouted after them, snickering silently to himself. The pale violinist narrowed his eyes and was going to turn around again as the doors of the cabin slided open and a certain ex-army doctor pushed him forward. The last thing he saw was the amused expression on his brother's face.

While Sherlock stared straight ahead with a murderous glitter in his eyes, John counted to hundred. Sometimes it helped to calm his nerves down. It didn't. Suddenly there was a loud screeching and the whole elevator started rattling, causing both men to stumble around and lose their balance. A second time this day they both fell on the floor, pressed against each other because of the little place they had. The shaking grew stronger and stronger until it finally stopped, the dim emergency lighting went on and with a final protesting noise the lift stopped dead in his tracks. John swallowed and turned his head around so his eyes locked with light grey ones, in which he detected a hint of panic. _"You have got to be kidding me"_, the doctor thought to himself while pinching the bridge of his nose. The universe could be cruel.

* * *

The two of them stuck in an elevator...this is going to be fun ;)

If you have any ideas what possibly could happen I would be glad to hear them! But one thing is sure, I'll release the tension next chapter.

So, hopefully I managed to entertain you for a few minutes. Review, review, review :D

And I'm sorry for every mistake I made.


	8. Chapter 8: Breathing you in

Tatatatataaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Alright, by by tension, hello snogging ;)

**Breathing you in**

The first 5 minutes stretched in awkward silence. John's heart was beating way too fast, he knew it couldn't be healthy. Eventually Sherlock rose himself gracefully as always and inspected the buttons on the left side of the elevator. He pressed the one for emergencies and they waited a couple of seconds for something to happen, the voice of Lestrade through the communicator for example, but it stayed completely silent. The detective pressed again, cursing to himself while tapping impatiently with his right foot on the cold floor. The doctor frowned a bit. The fact that his friend wasn't the most patient person was nothing new to him but this was a bit extreme, even for him.

After 4 more attempts the younger man gave up and started pacing, at least he tried but all he managed were two steps in each direction, which didn't seem to satisfy him in the slightest. He stopped. He sat himself in the opposite corner. He stood up again. He pressed the button. He punched the button. He cursed the button. Then he started pacing again. This routine went about 7 times until John had enough.

"Sherlock, stop it and sit down, you're driving me nuts"

He ignored him.

"Sherlock"

"…"

"_Sherlock"_

"FINE", the other one barked and threw himself on the ground, as far away from his companion as possible. The sight hurt John, but he didn't comment on it. Then there was silence again.

The doctor shifted uncomfortably and supressed the urge to reach over and do something stupid like pinning his flatmate on the ground and kiss him senseless. Or ruffle his hair. Or caress his cheekbones. John shut his eyes. He was going mad, completely insane. He wasn't gay, damn it! He was sure of this! Or was he? There it was again, this incredibly strong want, the desire to touch pale, perfect skin…_STOP!_

Quickly he snapped his eyes open again, just to realise that he was stared at. Sherlock sat unmoving like a statue and looked at him, frozen in spot and with an unreadable expression on his face. The doctor let out a breath and swallowed hard.

"Sherlock, I…", he trailed off, not sure what he was about to say. The detective tensed at his voice, pressing himself further into the wall behind him. And John knew they had to fix it. For a moment he experienced something like a soppy flashback with all the moments he held most dear. The day he met the world's only Consulting Detective in a lab in St. Bart's. The first time they both giggled on a crime scene. The one time Sherlock had dumped a case because John had been sick and needed someone to care for him. Sherlock, who looked at him with laughing eyes. Sherlock, claiming him as his only friend. Sherlock, placing a hand on his back. Sherlock, complementing him for his cooking skills. Sherlock, playing on his violin after he had another nightmare. Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock…John wouldn't bear to lose this. To lose him. The man who had healed his limp and so much more.

The Ex-soldier bit his lip. What were they doing? Ignoring each other or fighting until they became tired of it won't solve their problem, whatever that was. The blonde nodded to himself and shifted over to the one man who represented all he'd ever wanted and all he'd ever need. And nothing else mattered. The brunet seemed too shocked about John's sudden closeness to move and resembled a deer caught in the headlights. If the circumstances would have been different, John would have smiled at his friend's rather uncharacteristic expression.

"Sherlock" His tone was soft and warm, he dared to say even lovingly. Hesitantly he laid his hand on the well-built upper arm and squeezed gently, causing the other to flinch slightly and then lean into the touch. Slowly the detective turned his head to look directly into a pair of dark blue oceans which sparkled with an emotion he'd never seen before, at least not directed to him. A strange feeling of warmth flooded through the detective's whole body, starting in his toes and making him shiver slightly in a pleasant way. He didn't know what to do, his mind palace had vanished completely, in exception of one door. THE door. But to his surprise the frantic hammering had stopped. There was just a gentle knocking. And for the first time Sherlock took in the colour of the wood. It was painted deep blue.

The pale scientist took a shuddering breath and smelled the scent of the man beside him. There was tea, a hint of peppermint, rain and just John. John. John. John. The doctor was in the progress of saying something but Sherlock had decided. With one fluent move he grabbed the ridiculous red jumper which had driven him crazy the whole day and practically threw himself onto the doctor, pinning him to the floor. John was completely shell-shocked about this turn of events and tried desperately to not let his façade slip. He failed miserably.

"Ahmmm…Sher-", he never managed to finish his sentence but frankly in afterthought he really couldn't bring himself to care. Sherlock pressed his lips this hard against the doctor's, the blond was sure there would be bruises. For a moment both men didn't move, just stared at each other with wide eyes, lips still locked. Then something snapped and the world finally fell into its place. Two pair of eyes closed at the same time and there was nothing left but pure bliss. They fit perfect together, like two missing pieces of one puzzle and finally they both felt they _belong_.

Eventually Sherlock draw back a bit, but stayed close enough so their noses were still touching. The world's only Consulting Detective, smartest human being and biggest asshole at the same time had absolutely no idea what to say. But the door was open. And it wasn't as horrible as he had thought it would be. If he was honest to himself, he'd never felt this free before. This…happy, as a lack of a better term, because really, _happy _was an absolute understatement. Meanwhile, John had managed to catch his breath and stared at the dark hared man over him in wonder, shock, bewilderment but also complete contentment.

"Sherlock", he said again, like all the other times today, receiving a low hum from the man in question shortly before said man's lips crushed against his for another, slow but passionate kiss which left the doctor once again breathless.

"I-I think we should talk before we contin-_SHERLOCK!", _he screeched as the other one started to nibble on his ear in a most distracting and definitely arousing way.

"You know, I'm perfectly aware of my first name, you don't have to repeat it", the detective murmured with his dark, baritone voice and started to place little butterfly kisses on Johns throat.

"No, I-I mean yes I know but-_oh lord-_we really should talk"

"About what exactly?"

"T-this", John stuttered helplessly as his friend practically attacked his neck with his teeth and tongue and _oh shit. _

"I don't see any need to talk right now and if I'm right, which is usually the case, you agree with me in this point"

Sherlock ran his hands over the blonde's upper body and looked at him with which must have been the dirtiest smile in the history of earth. John, who'd started panting quite a while ago, opened and closed his mouth again.

"Oh screw it", he cursed and smashed their lips together, feeling the smile on his companions face. Occupied as they were, neither of them realised the fact that the elevator had started moving again.

Lestrade couldn't believe his eyes. No, that wasn't quite right, it was more like he just didn't WANT to believe his eyes. Mycroft, who stood close by his side, cleared loudly his throat but the two figures in the open lift didn't hear them and continued with what seemed to be breaking the record of longterm-snogging. "Well, at least the problem with this horribly sexual tension on my crime scene is solved" Greg announced with an unbelieving shake of his head. "Indeed", the other Holmes responded with the tiniest of smiles. "I believe it would be appropriate to leave my brother and his…_friend…_to their business, wouldn't it?" "Absolutely" the DI agreed and they both made their way back down the corridor. And nobody said something as the inspector quickly shot a photo with his mobile phone.

* * *

So, I'm proud to say: this is it :)

I hope you liked it and please review and tell me what you think, if it's good or bad, I really don't care.

I won't mark this story as complete until I'm sure if I should write an Epilogue, so I'll leave this decition to you guys!

Write and tell me if I should post one more chapter, or should I let it be?

Anyway, thank you so much for reading, I'm so so glad for every review, favourite and follow I have :)


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